


Dust of the Desert

by rivlee



Series: Gone Are All The Days [23]
Category: Band of Brothers, The Pacific - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-13
Updated: 2012-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-29 11:23:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivlee/pseuds/rivlee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snafu and Sid chat on a subject they both know. Part of a Modern AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dust of the Desert

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** This is all fiction based off the characters as portrayed in the HBO mini-series. No disrespect is meant. Title for The Gaslight Anthem's _Wherefor Art Thou, Elvis?_
> 
> Unbeated. First posted Dec 10, 2010.

Gene-Baptiste ordered him to be nice, so that was the only reason Merriell took Sid Phillips out to Fitzwilliam’s for a plate of baklava and a beer. Fortune clearly smiled on them since Babe was still working behind the bar when they arrived. He waved them over.

“What brings you two to this fine establishment?” he asked.

Babe refilled two of his customers glasses without them needing to ask and slapped one basket of peanuts and another of sesame sticks down in front of a group who was just running out. Many things could be said about Babe Heffron, but he even impressed Merriell with his job skills.

“Deciding to show Phillips around our little town, get him used to the area before he moves down.” He slid on to his favorite stool, motioning Sid to the one beside him. “Why ain’t you home yet? Gene-Baptiste has the night off for the first time in six weeks.”

“Oh,” Phillips said, his face gone all raccoon in the headlights. He waved at Babe. “I didn’t realize you and Doc Roe were, you know, _together_ together.”

“You got a problem with that?” Babe asked.

“No, no, of course not,” Phillips said quickly. “I just didn’t read that off you. Or him.”

“Well next time I’ll wave a rainbow colored flag for you,” Babe said. He smiled though, which took out the bite for anyone dumb enough not to detect the ice in his tone. “So what can I get you boys tonight?” he asked.

“Seeing as we’re in a place called Fitzwilliam’s, I guess I should get a Guinness,” Phillips said.

Merriell had to bite down on the inside of his cheek. Hard. He promised Gene-Baptiste he’d be good. Clearly though, Babe made no promise and for that Merriell thanked Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

“The owners are Greek,” Babe said, “so we don’t carry Guinness. They didn’t see the need to pay the distributer that much money for something no one in the town drinks anyway. I can get you a Killian’s Red or a Harp instead.”

“Uh, Killian’s I guess,” Phillips said. He almost looked terrified of Babe.

“Right,” Babe replied with a smirk. “Coke for you, Shelton?”

Merriell kept forcing himself not to laugh. “I think I’ll live dangerously tonight. Let’s try a Sprite.”

“Coming right up,” Babe said. He went down to the other side of the bar and left them to their conversation.

“Sprite?” Phillips asked.

“I don’t like to drink during the work week,” he replied.

Babe came back, dropping off Merriell’s soda in a plastic cup with a lid and straw, while handing Phillips a pint glass. “You break it you buy it,” he said. “That’s why Merriell gets the plastic cups. He still owes us a rack of shot glasses.”

“I paid for that with hard labor,” he shot back.

“Helping to move two kegs does not count as hard labor, Shelton,” Babe said. “Now get your ass off my bar stool before Jordan gets here. You know she can’t take you staring her down.”

“She’s a sore loser about that stare-off,” Merriell said but he got up from the bar anyway. Phillips followed him back to one of the booths.

“Is this the only bar in St. Boniface?” he asked.

“Legally speaking, yeah. Plenty of people make their own bathtub gin, but Fitzwilliam’s is our lodge. You can go into Lafayette for some more upscale places. We got a bowling alley with some pool tables if you’re looking for something like that. We got a library but other than the clinic, schools and the churches, that’s about it.”

“You are a really small town.”

Merriell waved to Babe as he ran out. He smirked when Jordan threw a glare his way and flipped him off with one of her perfectly manicured fingers. He turned his attention back to Phillips, who looked like he was trying to disappear into the worn vinyl seating.

“I don’t think we even qualify as a town. I like it here, nice change of pace from the bigger cities. Our population actually boomed post-Katrina and we’ve been getting steady gains ever since. The government in St. Martinville is even talking about opening a fourth school.”

Sid nodded. He looked around the bar, seeming to take all it in. He cocked his head to the side.

“Is that French?” he asked.

“Cajun-French,” he replied. “Or Cajun-English. You never know. Bit of both probably. You’ll hear just about everything here. People come from all over and a lot pass on through.”

He studied Sid, waiting for him to ask what was clearly on his mind. Merriell never did like to give a millimeter when he knew someone was bullshitting with him.

“So you and Eugene,” Sid said. “You were close during the invasion of Iraq?”

Merriell nodded. “Right next to each other the whole way. In close quarters on the ship before that.”

“What,” Sid paused and took a sip of his drink. “What was he like out there? He came back and he’s been so quiet since then. It’s been years.” He ran a hand through his hair, fingers tangling in the short blond curls. “What happened to him, as much as you can tell me, as much as you want to tell me. Please. Just. Tell me something.”

Merriell sat back and let himself sink into the booth. He’d been expecting this question but now that it was here he didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t tell all of it, hell, he didn’t even know the half of it. He could just speak to his side and Sid deserved the truth of that. He couldn’t begrudge this man anything, who held a tie with Sledge just as strong as Merriell’s own with Gene-Baptiste. Perhaps stronger in a different way. There was a time when Sledge was in love with Sid and Merriell had to wonder if the man before him ever knew that, ever sensed it. If Sledge still felt that way about his oldest friend. He took a sip of his Sprite while he gathered his thoughts.

“I don’t know what Sledgehammer was like before, but you have to understand Sid, while you were training to be a doctor and doing all that, he was being shaped by a military machine. Your Recruit Training starts off by stripping you down. From that first night you get off the bus and take your place on the yellow footprints, you start to change. It hits everyone different. I don’t know how it hit Sledge, I didn’t meet him until Pendleton. In the space of a year we were on the frontlines of the push into Iraq and then we were there to try and capture Fallujah. We had to try for that city twice in the same damn year. I can’t describe that to you Phillips. You can talk to someone about it, but until you actually live that, you can’t understand. There are books out there, plenty of them, if you really want to know that. I think what got Sledge though, what got to all of us, was the kids. No one can handle dead kids. And we killed our fair share, not intending to, but crossfire is a bitch. War gets to everyone, no one’s safe and when you’re fighting insurgents in a country full of civilians, everyone has an equal chance to die.”

Sid nodded and tapped his fingers on the tabletop. He pulled his hand back and twisted the college ring on his finger while he gathered his thoughts. “What about in your downtime, what did he do, talk about?”

Merriell couldn’t stop the smile on his face. “He wrote a lot, sketched a lot. If you ever needed a pen or some paper, you knew to go to Sledgehammer. Hillbilly, that was one of our Gunnies, he always held these sing-a-longs when we stopped for the night. Sledgehammer always joined in because he knew the country and folk songs. Those two introduced so many of our guys to Bob Dylan and Doc Watson. And he was a bookkeeper. Kept notes on all the bets, who owed who what. He was fucking greedy when it came to any Snickers bars.”

“Oh man, Eugene’s always hoarded those things like gold. I swear he’s still got some squirreled away from Halloween over a decade ago.”

Merriell laughed at that. “Yeah, he probably does.”

He knew what Sid wasn’t asking. People couldn’t help it, they wanted to know if they were remembered, thought of, brought up in the middle of a drive through hell.  
“Look, over there, none of us were at our best in terms of personality. We were about combat readiness and effectiveness and most of us didn’t want to talk about home. Not too much. Almost like you’d jinx it if you did.” He leaned forward. “Okay, I told my tales. Tell me about little baby Sledgehammer.”

It was Sid’s turn to laugh. “He was nothing but a greedy toy snatcher. He’s the spoiled baby of his family and got nothing but indulged his whole life. When he went into the Marines, shocked the hell out of everyone. Eugene’s always gone his own way. He always knew how to be two ways, the perfect son and the introspective boy. I think he’s forgotten how to do that.” Sid stopped and sighed. “I thought I was going to come back from Baltimore and he was going to come back from Afghanistan and everything would be similar to before. Then again, I thought I’d be with Mary Houston, but she got tired of waiting for me.”

“Why’d you make her wait?”

“Couldn’t get married without my best man,” Sid said, bittersweet smile tied to an old memory.

“I get that. Don’t think I could wed without Gene-Baptiste there to stop me from doing anything too stupid.” He glanced down at his watch, surprised at how late it was. “We should get back. It’s Spina’s turn for dinner tonight. Boy makes some of the best steaks you’ll find in this part of Louisiana.”

Sid nodded and stood up. “Thank you, Merriell, for talking with me about Eugene. I know it can’t be an easy thing for you to remember or speak to anybody about. None of us have the right to hear your story.”

Merriell shrugged. “Sometimes things have got to be told. Give it some time and I think we’ll all be reading Sledgehammer’s tale.”

He waved Sid off when he tried to pay for drinks, knowing Jordan would put it on his tab anyway. He threw her a tip and ignored her typical scathing comment about his clothes. He didn’t take clothing advice from anyone who put half her paycheck into spray tanning.

They were both quiet on the drive home, Merriell lost in thought and Sid taking in the details of their main street. When they got to the house, Sledge was sprawled out on the porch. His hands were covered in charcoal and a sketchpad laid open in his lap. He had a Snickers sticking out of the side of his mouth.

Merriell met Sid’s eyes and they both burst into laughter.

They never were able to tell Sledge why they laughed to the point of tears that night.


End file.
